Michael's Journal Cache 4

I AM SO UPSET. Who would ever imagine that this journal would come to mean so much to me! But last night my Palm PC freaked out and BOMBED, and I lost over an hour of my journal. Stinking thing. That Palm PC cost over a thousand dollars, and it does that every now and then. And I'm usually so good about SAVING at least every minute or so, I just automatically hit "CONTROL S" but I think I just got SOOO into it last night, about Joshua and Stacey arguing about the Bible, going into everything, looking up the scriptures they were quoting on my PC Study Bible, cut and pasting everything into my Palm PC Word, that I just didn't think about SAVING (what is WRONG with me!?!).

So I lost everything. Everything. I mean everything about the whole shebang. Just gone. That is so upsetting. And I'm just too mentally exhausted to even THINK about recreating the whole thing.

Even Grandma got in on it, she thought Joshua was right, but that he was wrong to get so upset, even yelling at Stacey (I've never heard Joshua yell, in my entire life, and he said some things that were just WRONG to Stacey, like saying that Stacey was in a cult, which is so stupid, cuz if it was a cult, that would be US, duh!). Yes, of course, Joshua apologized to Stacey, he hugged him and picked him up off his feet, and he even cried a little bit.

Grampy Doc, who is the least religious man in the world, said: "You know Josh, if I ever had a question about the Bible, I'd come to you. But I think Stacey is right about this stuff. He's seeing it from a fresh perspective, while you are quoting from a rule book that ain't the Bible."

Joshua was shocked. For one thing, it was probably the first time Granpy Doc had ever said anything NICE to him, OR anything about the Bible.

* * *

In the middle of the night I woke up. I remembered. I lay there, almost terrified, but terribly excited too.

Because I remembered.

I mean, how could I have forgotten?

When that discussion started the other day, what was it, two days ago?

When it started, it was just so simple. Stacey just asked a simple question. That's it.

And Joshua got madder than he or I would have believed possible.

I think I even wrote about it in this journal.

That when God spoke to Josh, gave him a little prophecy about a person coming to us, and asking us questions, questions that would make us angry -- is there any further proof needed that it was a prophecy about STACEY?!

I allamot crawlt out of bed to tlak2 to Joshua about it, but itz was won jo my spine nights starting up and I deaf didn't want to wake any1 during 1 f those, so I opened my Pmm PC and that's what Iaam doing now, only back back is backhurtino so mchu aa d i dant workot much orme/ but got remeb to tel Jsohh, acng rogithet, sh it

* * *

Can't believe that happened. This is the first time I've written herein for about three weeks. That last night, it seems I slipped into a coma, or at the very least a very, very deep sleep. I was out of it for four days, nobody could wake me up. They were very worried.

I feel pretty good right now, though I'm so weak.

* * *

Been a while. Can't write much. Spine bad. They want take to doctor. Too dangerous, Joe Walker. Looking for us, JA. Off medicine for month. Tired. Sleeping. Stacye sd sanctu

* * *

It is a week later. Very weak. There was run in with the blond. Stacey again. Joshua carried me. All a blur. Something wrong, sick.

* * *

More myself. Can't walk, but Joshua built me a nest, very comfortable. It's a bunch of second-hand clothes -- we're in a Helpin' Hand second-hand store. Isaiah Bookman owns it, but not under his own name. He says it is a hidden place. One of the Lord's hidden sanctuarys, which is what Stacey was telling us about.

Stacey isn't with us anymore he got caught. We don't know where they took him, we're praying for him, all the time. It doesn't look good. We hope Stacey is alive.

They came to get us, I was half awake, in a fever. Joshua carried me out and Grampy Doc and Grandma were with us. Stacey was carrying Jack, and the blond was after them, Stacey had to put Jack down to fight the blond guy AGAIN, and this time it didn't go so good, because a whole bunch of other guys, some of them much bigger than Stacey, got there too. I don't remember any of this, except bouncing up and down on Joshua's soldiers. I heard a lot of sirens, I think I remember that.

But Grampy Doc went back and got Jack. He says that there is no way that Stacey could have gotten out. Though he said it was amazing, he couldn't believe what little of it he saw, because Stacey was picking up guys over his head!

Joshua says it was the power of the Lord. I believe that too. Because I saw Stacey that night when I thought with my whole heart he was an angel of God.

Grampy Doc is shaken, that's the only way to describe him. He hasn't been talking since they took Stacey away. That says a lot, because Grampy Doc can't stop talking, usually (though I have to say, he is a very smart man, even if he does cuss a lot, he calls them the C-minus words, and Grandma always hits him when he "drops an F-bomb"). He says when he was younger, he would have waded in there and got Stacey out too, but he doesn't have his gun, Grandma wouldn't let him bring it, and now Mr. Coughy wouldn't let him swing the balls and chains (that's the way he talks, I guess he means punching, although maybe it means something about marriage).

I'll tell you what, what I miss most about Stacey not being here is the rhymes, how he'd get everybody going, even Rachel would be participating -- I'd try not to, participate, but sometimes even I would make up a rhyme, and for some reason everyone would always laugh at my rhyme, though I don't know why.

I'm have a constant "spine" time (see, another rhyme), with the blues mixed in, and nothing seems to help much. Partly it's the fever which hasn't gone away.

Stacey took me to his friend, Dane, who is a doctor, and none of us liked him, or trusted him. He is a very bad man, and only now are we figuring it out that it was him that turned us in. We had gone to his place, which is a big, big house full of fancy tech stuff -- okay, so even I appreciated all that stuff, even though I was only half alive. But the man has to be the smarmiest person on the face of the planet. You know he acted soooooo nice, but there was nothing nice in his ice-blue eyes.

This Dr. Dane said my spine is degenerating at an accelerated rate, and my joint degenerating is happening faster and faster. He said that I probably wouldn't live longer than a month, he was talking about this out loud because he thought I was too "out of it" to understand what he was saying.

Joshua whispered to Stacey that he didn't trust a single word the man was saying, and I could tell that Stacey was troubled by the whole thing.

While we were there, we were very quiet, and do you know who I saw at one point? The weird girl, I forget where I first saw her, it all seems like a dream, my old life, when Joshua and I were working on our "SHeep in WOlf's clothing" website, drinking coffee, and just going about what seemed like a normal life. I forget where I first saw the weird girl, but I'm sure it was her, except now her hair is dyed blonde, almost white.

She saw Jack, and she started cursing worse than I thought it was even possible for a female to do. It was terrible. Jack still isn't what anyone would call "all there," though he does talk some. He mainly says "Pop Pop," and we finally figured out he wasn't asking for Stacey.

Stacey stood between Jack and the weird girl, and he wouldn't let her near him, and she kept trying to scratch him . . . Stacey told us that he thinks he remembers her from somewhere, but he thinks she used to look different. Finally Dr. Dane gave her a shot and got her out of there, she kept yelling out stuff like "Jack back stack mack hack" and on and on, and cursing like a sailor (I don't think I've ever heard a sailor curse before, but they must, since it has become a cliche).

Then Stacey realized we had to get out of there, and we were leaving, through this tunnel that goes to Dr. Dane's garage, and that's when all the sirens started outside.

I am so tired. I can't believe I stayed awake long enough to write this. We still aren't sure what happened, except Grampy Doc says he saw the skeleton giant, someone he saw before, someone he says is the walking dead, and Joshua thinks it was the guy from that night, when Stacey saved us. Joshua also saw the blond, he was sure it was him.

We pray for Stacey all the time, and my family prays for me all the time too, and it does make a difference. No, I don't buy what that "Dr." Dane said about me, I'm not worried in slightest. This is just some new plain of pain (I think that rhymes), and it's just my job to go on.

Grampy Doc says "soldier on." I like that. It sounds kind of sad. But heroic too. Soldier on.

Ah fehtu chi knee al frey do! (roll the Rs, Stacey roll the Rs)

* * *

I'm Rachel Miyamoto, and I promise not to read anything in here. I am just Michael's instrument, so instrument away, Michael. Okay, it's me, Rachel is just my instrument (duh), stop that Rachel. I'm too weak to type. Are you keeping up? You don't have to write it when I'm talking to you directly. (This ain't gonna be easy, Rachel) I'm sleepy, and my fever goes up and down. No word about Stacey. Nothing on the news. Isaiah Bookman is taking care of us, he brings us food and fresh water, and found a real toilet for us to use . . . I am sorry Michael, but I am not going to type in baby talk for you, a toilet is a just a toilet and it is a fact of life. This is me, Michael, and Rachel promises not to butt in any more, or change my words, right Rachel, or otherwise I won't be keeping my journal during my tired time.

He just dropped off to sleep and my fingers are on this tiny keyboard, and wonder of wonders this little toy seems to actually fit my hands, my fingers, I kind of like it. Michael seems to be lulled by the sound of my fingers tip-tap trip-trapping away, and I can't seem to stop. I realize that he is going to read this, probably soon, and true to Michael, he will freak out, and won't talk to me for several days, but I don't care. I'm going to say it, right here, right now, that I love this man, this full man, Michael Potok (he won't tell me what his middle name is). I've been in love with him for more than a year, ever since the first time I saw him in the Coffee Dump. I would never have kept working there so long if it weren't for Michael, I got soooo many job offers, I'm a whiz on any cash register, and I'm in demand as a hostess, that china doll thing going in my favor, even though I AM JAPANESE, and yes, there really is a difference. Don't get me started on that, no body likes to reveal all their prejudices, not like this. But Michael, I'm sorry, I can't stop typing, I have to tell you how much I love you. Sure, maybe I'll delete all this when I'm done talking, I mean writing, so that you'll never have to have your heart attack when you read these words, but at least I can finally VOICE my feelings, as any hint from me and you practically melt like the Wicked Witch of the West. But it isn't your blue eyes, or your black hair, or your dazzling beauty, Michael, your beauty doesn't enter into my equation, and your body has never been an issue, either -- it is you, the YOU of you, it has always been you, Michael. Since the first time I saw you, I couldn't stop thinking about you. I felt something click into place the first time I saw you, I felt like I had found the thing I had always been looking for, and I never even knew I was looking for something, I had no idea I was looking for YOU, Michael. If I have guts, I won't delete this. But I doubt I have guts, not that kind, because I know my passion might consume you, it might come roaring out of me and sizzle you into a blackened matchstick. Michael, oh Michael, why can't I just shout it in your face I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU. I feel like a little girl. Yes, I have been with men. Shooting straight, I've been with three men, but one of them wasn't in that way, you know what I'm talking about. You met the one guy, Tim, well okay you didn't meet him but you saw him, and he has been my best friend for many years, and YES, I admit it, I DID bring him there that night because I wanted you to get jealous, I just wanted to get the ball rolling, and I was shocked when it almost killed you, but Michael? It thrilled me, too, because only then did I know you felt the same way about me as I do for you. No, I never loved Tim, okay, I thought I did, but it was never really an issue because he is gay, but he is the dearest person, like a wounded puppy, but we've only been friends, and when I met you I knew that I was okay with Tim that I never really had feelings for him, because what I feel for you completely obliterates anything else I've ever felt in my life, I feel alive for the first time. I would rather be here with you, Michael, than with anyone else, I would rather be in constant danger, with you, than be anywhere else in any other circumstance with any other man. Where you go, Michael, I go. I will never leave you, unless they kill me, that is the only way I could leave you, Michael, even if you tell me you hate me, I will follow behind you, I won't go away, not never.

I'm awake, (Michael) it sounds like you've been typing, Rachel. I'm going to check, you know, you better not be messing in my journal!

(I love you, I love you, I love you)

You're typing too much, more than what I am saying.

(I love you, I love you, I love  you)

Okay, turn it off, Rachel, I'm too tired.

(Good night my love, I will be right here beside you, when you open your beautiful eyes I will be looking at you, good night my beloved)

Rachel, you better not be writing jokes....

(I'm not, beloved, I'm not, I would write this all with my blood if it would convince you)

* * *

I feel better, but I don't have the nerve to check on what Rachel wrote in here. Probably a joke. She better not have.

I'll tell you, it is painful, looking into her exotic eyes. I'm afraid that I'll go to say "pass the salt" and instead blurt: "I LOVE YOU." She'd probably run from the room and I'd never be able to meet her eyes again (okay, so I don't really meet them now, I more look between her eyebrows, and she has the most delicious eyebrows, I am SO glad she doesn't pluck them or shave them -- that makes me think of the weird girl, it was like she shaved OFF her eyebrows and then drew them back on, how could someone be so disturbed to do that?).

Stacey is not here. It is such an obvious hole. We thank God that Isaiah Bookman IS here, he plays checkers with Grampy Doc and chess with me, when I feel up to it. He's not much competition for me OR Grampy Doc, an all of us can beat Joshua at either game (Joshua loves backgammon, and Grandma and Rachel will play endless games with him, but I don't see the point as it is all about rolling some dice, a fate game instead of a strategy game).

The blues today, I can't write much. Maybe I'll try and take a nap.

* * *

Feel surprisingly good. Rachel is acting very weird around me. I've decided that I CANNOT go back and read what she's written, because I have an idea it is something that is going to upset me -- she's probably explaining "Dear John, 101 Reasons It Will Never Work" -- and why would I want to read that, when 3,200 reasons are bouncing around in my fevered brain?

My fever is gone down, Grandma said it was stuck at 99, which isn't too bad. Isaiah Bookman says that Dr. Dane was trying to scare us with his "diagnosis," and what's happening to me doesn't have anything to do with my spine. Grampy Doc says I'm just a wimp and need to buck up.

Soldier on. Who would have ever thought of me as a soldier? It's really ironic, as no service would let me in the door to the recruiter, when they heard the uneven gait of my shoes. When a "man" leans twelve inches to one side when he's standing "straight" he's not considered a "man" to the "service."

I'm so glad I'm in a completely different service. It's a service that doesn't care about what my outside is like -- it's all about the inside. And it's not even the inside that I've done anything to, it's the inside that the Commander of the Special Service is DOING through me.

It's all very real to me, right now, at this time. Can things get any worse than they are? We're all sure of it. We're expecting it. We're a little disappointed when things seem to get into a new rut.

I've lost track of the days we've been on the road, in hiding, on the lamb, lurking like criminals.

I've been such a complainer in my life. I thought everything was unfair. That I didn't get a fair start, the woman I was born to, the neighborhood, the kind of people that were looking over the rail of my crib. The people that touched me. The people that hurt me.

And that was just a start.

But I think God was taking all the bad stuff, and turning it. That's what He does.

I DO NOT think that God is this monster puppet master, that plans out in advance each bruise you're going to get, each mean person that pops into your face like a spook on a haunted house ride.

No, what I'm seeing so clearly, every day, every ticking second, is that God created something that was good. And man has increasingly turned that good thing into a bad thing. God doesn't do bad things. He created a self-contained biosphere that should run perfectly. And man was supposed to take care of it. Instead, man only went for things that would hurt and destroy the self-contained system.

God created a beautiful, wondrous coo-coo clock, and maybe He even keeps it wound (or possibly He wound it just that once, and it is winding down, and the creak of the springs, getting looser and looser, is the sound of our end) -- it was a perfect clock, with such an animated coo-coo bird that pops out on the hour to count the time, and does a little peep show on the half hour too, and He gave this wondrous creation over into the hands of His image, and they have treated the coo-coo clock badly.

Let's face it, it is a coo-coo world.

Wow, I feel pretty good right now. I'm sitting up. It actually feels like I'm doing something positive, at this moment, writing in this journal. True, it feels like real work (isn't that something, that my moving fingers are a labor?), but it feels good. I get some satisfaction in the action (I'm not sure why, but this little statement reminds me of Stacey, dearly, dear Stacey).

I haven't been able to think of Stacey, at least not coherently. But I've had such strange, frightening dreams. Where sometimes I AM Stacey, and I'm screaming. Othertimes I'm looking at chains on my arms. And two little children are clinging to my legs, and I wake up and realize that they are dead, and that nothing is on my legs.

We listen to it on our radio, my watch, that people are killing their children, more and more. It's almost as if they are sacrificing them to strange gods. And people are saying that the dead children are going to a better place, while others say that the children are cursed, and that the curse will not allow them into that better place.

This world is coo-coo and I can't stop writing, because if I DO stop writing I feel that the little door is going to pop open and I'm going to come shooting out on my spring, and the broken words of COO-COO, COO-COO, COO-COO are going to break from my lips, as the tears stream down my face, and I'll chirp it over and over and over again, not my words, not my words, not my words, saying in my own pre-recorded way that the world is broken, it is insane, it is broken, it is insane.

And at some point that little rusty spring is going to break, and I'm going to come falling down, falllng through tremendous space, to fall and crack upon God's kitchen floor. And maybe God's puppy will snatch me up in his mouth, and dash out through God's puppy's doggy door, into God's garden, and it will be green, and I'll smell the flowers, the cool breezes, and there will be no cycle of death in God's garden, no spiders killing flies, not even dung for the flies, no ants pressing war, everything peaceful, and the puppy will lie between the paws of a lion, a lion sleeping in the garden, and the puppy will lick me, it will caress my broken body.

And somehow, through some miracle, God will make this broken toy . . . REAL.

I've accepted that I will find no healing in this world, in this present coo-coo world.

I used to fantasize about it, I'd think of all the withered hands stretched out, of the dead boys sitting up, the blind removing their dark glasses, the terribly acned suddenly feeling the smooth skin of their cheeks. Would God reach out His hand and smooth the kinks from my back? Would He touch me and say: "Stand up, Michael, you stand up straight!"

I've always known that God COULD only if He WOULD. I've never doubted that. I am a tiny thing, and God is great and all powerful. Would You heal me, Daddy? Would You fix Your broken toy?

And God says to me, even now, He whispers like a lover in my ear, raising gooseflesh upon the skin of my back: "Michael, I love you. But Michael, soldier on, Michael, soldier on. I have a plan for you, my sweet, sweet boy, I have a plan for your happiness, I have a plan for your giggles of delight. Soldier on, Michael, my cherished coo-coo boy, soldier on."

I can do that. Who needs a coach when you've got God whispering in your ear? Who needs a cheerleader, or a big marching band, or a stadium or fake grass. Reality is just there, standing at my shoulder, present, here, right now. Not at some distant location, traveling through space. God is HERE, right now, all around me.

I can do that. I can soldier on.

Stacey, wherever you are? Soldier on, my Papa. Soldier on, my friend. This world is nothing, it is coo-coo, it is all an illusion. Reality is standing just behind you, Stacey, don't be afraid. Soldier on, Stacey, soldier on, Staceman.

We might be pathetic, this ragtag band, me might be motley and bedraggled, but we are in His service, this little group, and we will soldier on, for Him, and there is a reason, there is a hope, there is bright peace, just up ahead.

I think I'll try and take a nap now.

* * *

tttthis isssssJOshua ssorry my rined machel buat i m writing i yor jourahl i paormis not eo read anythink sorry aobut tupos but fienger stoo beig frror tihny iekboard. wont read anythink i promise wwere praying for your . you are sleeping deeply and swe ynot sure if you wake up this timee. we with you michael, we pray for you. grampy doc is praying for you micahel, isnt that a mirakl; it is it is mmichael. god iss with us. im not rfready mmmicahel for you to die, dont leave me yet micahel. we all need you, ydour our esamoel, i cant see if i'm typin right cuz my finers cant hit right keys im trying you are our exmaple, im typing slow, weak up micahel wake up okay. ia have faith in God i do miacheal but i cant hepl but be sad. i cant hepl but be faaraid. GGGod is with us. i know that. if HE decied that it is time for u then it must be the best choice and we all willl lievee eith it. but rachel needs you and so do i and even grampy doc has read eyes and your know thatsyan alot, hes the old crocodile, ,doc the crock that what he asy but he maieing the most beautifool fdryar pmicaehl the most beatufil prayer. but you sleep micahel but wfweak up too. rrachel even wwent out to kkegt some cororee cofeee fofee cofeee cofffee for your to drink so wake upa nd smell the cofffee michael wake up. you whispre sssoemthing oover and overr, grammpyy gdoocc theinks you are sayihg'sodapop sodapop' but i thought you seid 'trojans, trojans, trojans' and was thiening hyou were thinking of the troajna war,but rachael sakys you are saying 'soldier on, soldier on' and we dont knowe what that amean but she puts ehr eer on your mouth and so mayeb dhe knows. wakea up mieahcl, my fingers hurt from this tiile keiysboard and i jaey brake it ir your dont wakke up soons. we all oelve you jiachel, me alll love you. i love you michael i do. wakee upp. id dddindt reaedd anythingggg i pprommisee okay micahel byekbeye

* * *

Well, I hesitate to write in here again Michael, as it seems you didn't care enough to read what I'd written before, even when I had the "balls" to leave it written, to get everything out in the open. But Joshua wants us all to write something to you, Michael, we all need you so much. You are our spirit, Michael, you are our heart. And we need our heart. It seems Stacey was our head, but we lost that. So don't take our heart away, dear, dear heart, don't take it away from us, dear God.

I love you, Michael, now more than ever. My heart breaks to say so even at this moment. Wake up, Michael.

Your Rachel.

* * *

What am I supposed to say? Huh. I hate paperwork. Kid, you little midget, stop sleeping. And don't think I don't know you conned that phrase from me, little bastard. You better soldier on, kiddo. Get up, kiddo. we miss ya. Doc the Crock.

* * *

Dear Michael, my grandson. You wake up for Grandma, now you hear? We need you, and we pray for you throughout the day and night. I'm not all for these little electric typewriters, but I wanted to tell you how much we all love you, and how it is just not the same without our dear sweet little Michael man. I know you are not Catholic, sweet boy, but I know Jesus loves you just the same. And I DO pray that Saint Joseph and all his friends keep a special watch on you, little soldier. I should clean up what Joshua wrote in here but I can't make heads or tails of it. And Michael? Please go back and read what that little chinagirl wrote, I think it just might make your day. With all my love, Grandma.

* * *

Oy, Schmucko. Time to get out of bed, sleepyhead. The Lord our Deliverer has need of you, manchild. And so does Isaiah Bookman, if you didn't recognise my bald head. I had thought the glare off my pate might rouse you, but manchild, you sleep, you sleep, O Lord our Strong Tower to which we run to. Shalom, Michael, Shalom, and may the Mightiest, our Father Yahweh, Adonai Ha Shem, may He watch over thee, when we are absent one from another. Sleep Michael, your poor body needs it, friend and brother and schmuck, but do not sleep too deeply. Isaiah Bookman

* * *

Hello Michael. I still can't think too clearly. But I'm awake. Don't you go all coma now that I'm up and touching my toes. I remember things, you know, from when I was asleep. Perchance to dream. Just fragments. I don't even rembmer where the perchance quote comes from, though it must be that guy, you know, from school. Joshua and I are going to see if we can go see my Pop Pop, Michael, and I wish you could meet him. Don't die, okay? I'm not too sure what I believe about God right now, I'm all confused about everything. But I do ask Him to keep you hear. Don't go running off to heaven, I know it's tempting. But we need  you more here. I ask that God helps my unbelief (I forget where that quote is from). I'm up for some chess, now, and will do my best to challenge you. It's bogus, this coma thing. Jack

* * *

INTERNAL MEMORANDUM ONLY

HIGHEST PRIORITY

-NEED TO KNOW BASIS ONLY-

TO: HQ SUBCOM

FROM:  JA SUBCOM DIRECT

RE:HD DRIVE RETRIEVAL

SUSPECT:   DECEASED

Immediate compilation of all proper names, locations and any specific data recovered from Evidence Sample #333X2-POTOK. Crossfile all key evidence with FRNS and Spt WF.

Investigation concurrent autopsy three suspect insurgents.

Several suspects still at large, number unknown. Maintain visual guard 24/7, highest priority.

JA SUBCOM #333X2-SINBAR.

:::    :::    :::

#333X2-ANNOTATION

- NEED TO KNOW BASIS ONLY -

CROSSFILE REDUNDANT CHECK

PRISONER #333x2-COLTON

STACEY COLTON, ALLEGED INSURGENT

KEY MATCH EV-SMP #333X2-POTOK

TRANSFER PRISONER JA SUBCOM #333X2-SINBAR

HEAVY SECURITY  :::  :::  ::: SAMSON EFFECT.

JA SUBCOM DIRECTOR.

:::    :::    :::

Well I'm out and that's a story all on its own, and how I got ahold of your journal is a completely OTHER story, Michael. I'm not going to go into any of that now, and I know things don't look too good for you, if I can make anything out from the two memoranda that were stuck into this journal, but I'm going to proceed with the belief that you are alive and well, my brother.

This probably will be weird, and it is almost impossible for me to use this silly wee keyboard, but then again your fingers must have been quite a bit smaller than mine (I'm also not going to read any of this journal, other than what we did before, in what now seems like the "good ole days," you know, on the run, pursued by homicidal nazi pharisees, I won't read anything until that day when you give me the nod, my brother and friend).

I've just got to put some stuff down. So I don't forget. My brain is operating at top speed, and as the hours pass I'm probably going to be forgetting quite a lot, just like the children of Israel did after getting out of Egypt (and I can assure you, through personal experience, it was all real, what happened in the Bible, because I have seen and heard and felt things almost at the same level, the same kind of miracles, and I have been a slave down in Egypt land, except I think it was in way-south Southern California, if not over the border into Meh-hee-co).

Way back when, when I was 18 I think, I distantly recall an angel visiting me. I've since thought it was a dream, if not a vivid night terror. But a dream. Now I'm not so sure. Because I've met him again -- well, not exactly a him, but an angel, and that is for certain. He led me out of Egypt, and he even punched me in the leg, much the same way another one must have smacked Peter -- I've read the entire Bible now, I know that's a fact, even though must of the past three weeks are a blur, a blur of pain and screaming.

I think it has been three weeks, if the date on your little gizmo here is correct. Wow, I never realized how snazzy this thing is. While I'm writing I'm listening to classical music, not my usual listening habit, but I have to quiet down my heart, calm down the blood flow, cuz I'm on the verge of popping off in pieces. My hands shake -- haven't been paying attention, but am I making typos? If not, that's another miracle.

How big is this thing, anyway, this secret network of religious fanatics undermining the world? I always used to hear about New World Order and secret societies, all this crap, but for the first time I know it is all real, but not like what people think, not at all.

Maybe this is all a double-entendre shadow play, for my benefit? Maybe they "exposed" me to things and then set me loose, drugged me and hypnotised me and programmed me, convincing me of an angel at my side, dreams from my youth (only a couple of months aga, did I or did I not dream about "sky tubes" coming down and sucking up buildings in Denver? was that a planted memory, or real?) -- everything, maybe everything I think and believe is a lie?

I need to calm down before jumping to conclusions. Need to read through my noodle, line by line, figure out what's real and what's the product of exquisite torture.

Oh yeah, Inquistion, and I DO mean to capitalize that "I" -- and it wasn't curiosity that killed the cat, but "I"nquisitiveness, and it is the all-time felinocide.

Am I crazy? I don't think so.

I feel more sane right now than in the previous 33 years of my life, give or take 32 years or so, you know? Que pas so. Joe.

I rhyme when I'm nervous. Stop it.

Cell phones and diet pop.

The atmosphere convoluted with rays and waves and radiation.

Turn the masses to plastic luxury, the Oligarchy ascendant, Big Biz Godzilla Waking.

Leave of Sanity taking.

Michael, we talked about it, you is one paranoid puppy. I was upfront about that, you know? I tried to always talk truth with you.

But just because you are decidedly paranoid, it don't mean you were wrong.

Joshua, my jolly optimist, I'm afraid there ain't much positive to focus on. Things are grim and dark, and as far as light goes, I can't see a spark. Quark. Narc. Bark. Lark. Noah's Ark.

And then the flood came and took them all away.

That phrase keeps pinging and ponging in my tiny wee noodle. And then the flood came and took them all away. The flood. The days of Noah. Noe? I knowah. Protozoa.

Excuse me, Mr. Michael, if I'm filling up your journal with nonsense, but I'm thinking, just thinking and shivering, my noodle is trying to shake off all the whirling shit going down the tubes -- sorry about that, if you ever read this you'll smack me, I know it.

OF COURSE YOU ARE GOING TO READ THIS. I know you are alive. With every fiber of my being. Is that one of the worst cliches of all time? Yeah, I know, the Big C guys say it, "Don't think, feel." I know. And I don't mean cancer. Or I DO mean cancer. the cancer on society -- the Cult. The CULT that convinces everyone that all the other guys are a cult.

This JA, they are the real thing. They are the King of the Kingdom of Cults. And do you know the names of some of the guys involved with these guys, I mean knowingly? I've met quite a few. Well, I didn't exactly meet them, but they hung me up like a slab of meat and they all walked around me talking and chatting while they sucked down their bloody Horse de Odors, they thought I was a dead man, that it didn't matter if they spilled their proverbial beans in my ears (yuck, that sounds bad, but I didn't mean it that way, or maybe subconsciously I DID mean it that way).

Gotta sleep. My back is alive with cuts and slices and oozing pus -- if I don't get it treated, and soon, I could end up dying off it, at least it feels that way, like my entire back is on fire. Think a couple of my ribs are broken, and I've been hit pretty hard in the past, letmesmellya I have, squirtingly. Except rarely with clubs, and the tootsies, don't forget them tootsies.

I'm a mess, broken left arm (it was always pretty wimpy anyway), might be blind in my left eye too, but that could just be broken blood vessels, I can't even guess at this point. And some nasty holes in my teeth not from too much candy.

You probably thought I was dead, you and Joshua -- and poor Jack, I wonder how the kid is holding up.

I have felt the power of God flow through me like a billion volts of jungle juice, and I'm terrified of being called to step up to the plate again, I don't wanna hurt nobody, but if He calls me, I'll do it, again. But I gotta sleep now. Nighty-night, sleep tight, and don't allow them sleeping quarter insectoids to make suck upon thy skin. Boy I'm pooped.

More later.

* * *

Feveer, don't know how much time passed has but keep focused gotttoo keep my mind going, off the fever, not sure where to go not yet. Dreamed about MIchael and Joshua, they are alive, I"m havving those fever dreams where it's hard to figure what am I thinking now I'm not sevn sure about my kids, are they alive or not? This keebord is too small. Ridiculous, now do they expect anyone to type in a watch anyway, what next, a word processor in a ring, probably a nose ring. Bling bling, achoo, such glue, dripping and tripping and flipping down the stairs, the stairs, down to the basement deepr in the dark in the dark, lights out. I'm feeling too beaad right now, not too bad, other that thinking, not sure what is real, very cold in heer is it Winter, I can't remember, the last I remember is sitting with my legs haning over the ledge, high up where was that, I remember seven buzzsaws loudly buzzing, five rings a miliking.

Okay stay in the here and now. Remember some stuff, right it down beofre it goes away with the wind gone with the wind frankly my dear I don't give a clam, clam juice.

I rmember a older guy with a very kind vace and kindly eyes, white hair, he told me, this is a quote:

"We are God's children. He is torturing people right now, His own creation. And thus how can He expect any different from us? Are we not His children?"

I remember shaking my head, almost laughing, except that is when the screaming started, and I'm embarassed to write it was me doing all the screaming. Urination and defecation, do you know those two walk hand in hand with their big protector, their babyysitter, they really do. I might not have learned much in my life but I learned that stuff pretty good, the smell, you breathe harder when you're screaming, and your sense of smell increases, your hearing improves, you can hear people whiserping to each other in a cell fifty feet away, you can smell someone crying, their tears leaking down the wall, soaking in the dirty cotton sheets, you can smell the decaying tooth in the nice old man's mouth, as he tells you, very confidentially, not at all condescendingly, that GOd was doing it first, so He can't blame His own children when they follow Big Daddy.

Did he use that, Big Daddy? I think at some point he did, but he wasn't being sarcastic. From the peoples I met, he actually was a nice man, he didn't seem to enjoy pulling my fingernails, at least a couple of them, halfway out, and then pushing them slowly back in -- I really don't think he was getting off on it, my pain, but he thought he was helping me. He said that if I could only switch my paradigm, I would see his side, and I would choose God, and I would gain eternal life.

The he laughed about that too, cuz he swore I already HAVE eternal life, that everyone does, that no one will die -- thou shall not surely die, he said that, and I know he was quoting the Bible, but as I remember it he was quoting one of the bad guys, but right now I can't remember who that was.

My thinking is flowing right now, just stick off hte sad thoughts you're not going to forgeet them you're not sdoing themn any disserve by not thinking about them, because it's survival of the fistest and I"m not very fist right now, I"m meelting but it's sweating and don't think about them cudbe it wouldn't do dogod to cry some more, not for the littles, ta least they are out of it right now, you failed them, but don't think about that right now, not about any of that -- don't try and caance the past, don't lie to yourself, but right now focus on other things, like remember ring.

I bemember her that day when she drove over my foot -- did that really happen? Or is it a fantasy. I remember her eyes, those dark and exotic eyes, they were wide eyes, not too tall from the bottom to the top, but wider than eyes are supposed to be and I couldn't distinguing the line of demarcation between pupil and iris, that's how balck those eyes were to me, and I hallucinatinng, or conujring visions -- horny I am not, I feel so sick I could easily lie down and die the death of a thousand snoozings, I"m not making sense, but I"ve progbagly yahd my fingers on the wrong keys anyway and no body hacn decode this ring, not with Captain Crunchrtillo.

CAnn someone fall in love in that short moment, looking in a window, can someone bond to somenne for eternity in the time it takes a Mercedez' sidnows to wind down? I have a lifteime of choosing the wrong woman, a lifetime, a lifetime, a wifetime...

...take Cosette, nothing wrong with her, she 's adorbabble and pure, sweet, raised right by nuns, cared for by Jean val Jean, beautiful and blonde. And then there is Eponine, raised to be a spoiled brat, then a fallen woman, low-down low-class sluteroony -- and yet, Marius, how could you resist Eponine, when she loved you, and her love for you could change her?

But then idiot, that's why you are stupid with women. Eponine would have destroyed Marius, if he had gone with her instead of Cosette, she would have ground him down into hamburger . . . so the question is, Lord? Which was SHE?

HER, the she, that HER that you led me to, while I was praying to YOU? Is she a Cosette or an EPonine, or worse, a complete fanasty, my fantaise artiste, all over again, that phantasm always at the edge of my vision.

Maybe I'm dying right now, my arm is killing me, and my sides feel like an avocado two weeks past the moldy stage. My back is moving, maybe with maggots, or must my noodle, my noddlicious . . . if I could think of someone to go to, someone I can trust,

wqhat that Lord? Okay, I'll put the keyboard in my picket and makee sure the watch is on my wwrist and go out in the world, You watch over me, wherever I go, okay, I don't know, can't see, can't think, therefore am I not. YOu led Lord, I"ll trrust in YOu my strong tower over now ddo to go okay  id o

* * *

Felling abet better, I fever littel, decided. I dreamed to go to church. I was sitting in church with a frrieend, not sure who, but she was holding my hand and told me I gett mberter. So Im gonna set out today and the fist churrch i come to I'M GOINT TO GO INA DDSIT DOWN, great caps lock. Sorry. Don't feel too good. But I think. Get up and go to church. Right now.

* * *

He's sleeping now. I can't hardly figure this little thing out but he keeps telling me that I have to write in it for Michael. I'm not good with computers, any kind, but this thing is ridiculous. I mean it is a watch, for goodness sakes!

I don't even know what his name is, but I recognized him, from up front, I saw him right in the middle of a hymn, I'm amazed I was able to finish "A Mighty Fortress is Our God."

It is him. I know it. I've dreamed about him, thought about him, and now he's here, asleep in my bed. No, don't even think that. I'm terrified to even talk to him, let alone, well you know.

I've got him on left-over antibiotics, I know, I know, that's just wrong. But he has such a high fever. It was 104 when I got him home from church. Aspirin, antibiotics, and a cold washcloth on his head -- I'm not good with this stuff, I'm usually the one being taken care of.

His back is a MESS. He told me he can't go to the hospital, and he mentioned Joshua and Michael, and I have to assume it is MY Joshua and Michael from church, and if he's involved with them, then maybe he's in trouble too, though I've never seen his picture on television with theirs. Wow, I'm surprised I even recognized him, I mean he's like wearing a bum costume, very smelly. Greasy hair, and now not the big moustache but a full beard, and he has a lot of gray. I wonder how old he is? Is that okay to wonder? I don't care, just wondering.

Let me say this, I've never believed any of it. I know they're not anarchists or terrorists, that's just stupid. And so I know something terrible is going on, the police and media are involved (no surprise there, I guess).

Well, I've got this cowboy man now, and nobody is taking him away from me. Somehow I've got to get a doctor to see him, or maybe a nurse, I know a few nurses.

Oh boy, I have to go up and see Huck in a few minutes. I am ending it with him, for once and for all. AFter God sent me the man I prayed for, do you think I would even touch Huck? Even if he was a ten foot tall Paul. Mami and Michelle have no idea that I've got a "guest," and they would hit the moon if they knew.

That's the just of it.

Can't write more. Later. I'm getting the hang of this little folding keyboard thingee, it is actually pretty cool. Okay, now really, later.

Bronte Chaplin.

* * *

Me again. You know, I don't even know what kind of stuff he wants me to write, he just said I had to keep it going, Michael's Journal, that Michael was alive.

I just checked his temp, it isn't so bad now, just 100.7 (that sounds like a radio station).

Anyway, I want to try and describe it. I almost did not play yesterday for church. Didn't feel too good, that's nothing new. Thought I had the flu, plus Huck has been bugging me, and I have been depressed about him. I want him out of my life. But he keeps begging, and then says we will just get together for coffee over at the Dump.

But at the last second I called Renee and told her I'd play for  Central Indy Baptist, and I half hoped that maybe I would see Joshua or Michael there, but not really. It has been almost two months since they disappeared, and there are often strange men in dark gray suits sitting at the back, or soemtimes I just see them out in cars, watching. Creeps.

But I was playing, all Martin Luther stuff since it is getting close to Halloween. I don't mind. I like ML and all, but was more in the mood for praise type music at one of the Charismatic churches.

But I saw him, at the end of the third verse, and we were still doing the fourth. That was the longest hymn in the history of Organ 101.

I wanted to run as soon as I was done with the hymn but I had my violin solo. I played on autopilot, I swear I did. I do not remember a single note. For all I know I might have got up there and played Another One Bites the Dust, except I don't know that one. Then I didn't sit down. I mean after the organ or solo I usually sit down.

Instead of sitting in the front pew like I usually do I went out the side door and kicked off my shoes, ran like an insane woman, yes I was holding my shoes, that's good news, and ran all the way around the church to the back door where the potluck woman let me in the rear doors. I put my shoes back on and tried to compose myself, but my heart was beating, it sounded like I had swallowed a bass drum. I mean it felt like I swallowed one. I haven't figured out how to edit this thing, this stupid little computer face, or watch face, you can only see about twenty words it's like writing with a stupid cell phone but at least I have this little keyboard.

I peeked in to where he was sitting from the mother's room. Then I was not sure it was him. I mean, it was a big good looking man, but with way more gray in his hair than I remember. It looks good, but maybe he is real old, like maybe FORTY. But his face still looks young, even under all this caveman hair.

I cannot believe what I did. First off, the first time I met him when I thought he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my life, I drove away!!! Can you believe that? I was just praying for my Heavenly Father to send me the man He had chosen for me, and a couple of seconds later here he is, leaning toward me with these eyes, looking at me, I MEAN HE WAS LOOKING AT ME WITH THESE EYES . oops, caps lock, sorry.

And I just started driving, my heart beating a million gallons a second. I hardly even thought about it. I did not even think about talking to him. Here God gives me what I was praying about and I start running like Elijah!

And that very night I spent in jail because of that jerk Huck. And I dreamed of him, the beautiful cowboy man, and we grabbed each other's hand, like we were grabbing a life line. We both needed someone to save us.

Well that was just a dream. Now I see HIM sitting here in church, I mean my church, well not really my church but one of the five I play for regularly. And there he is. I am utterly surprised I did not kick off my shoes and dive head first into my Merc and just burn rubber out of there!

But I did not. Do you know what I did do? I walked calmly out of the mother's room, I pushed open the back doors and calmly walked to his pew, I scooted across three people and plunked myself down next to him. I sat straight . . . oh no, this thing is beeping and a little window is saying in flashing letters "99 percent full cache." I don't know what to do except turn this dumb little contraption off like he showed me ho